


A Great and Sudden Change

by TheBlackLagoon



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Crying Boys, Disabled Character, Fix-It, Future Fic, Government Conspiracy, Government Experimentation, M/M, Memory Loss, Neglectful Parents, Post Season 3, Roadtrip, Steve's going to night school to become a teacher because I said so, Teacher!Steve, The Byers live in Bloomington, but only a very tiny one, happy sibling reunion, main character with amnesia, spoilers for up to season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackLagoon/pseuds/TheBlackLagoon
Summary: “Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” -Mary Shelley, FrankensteinThere are some things William Hargrove thought he would never forget. There are plenty more, he wished he could. But when he wakes up, with no memory of even his name in a shady Indy hospital, well all he wants now is to remember.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so, I've been wanting to write a Stranger Things fic for the longest time. I grew up nearly exactly where Hawkins is on the fake Indiana map and the temptation to put all my small town Indiana knowledge to use has been bugging at me big time. So here, a postseason three fix-it fic, which yes will have all the small-town Indiana things I love (there are some perks I swear).

“ _Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change._ ” -Mary Shelley, Frankenstein 

Billy Hargrove died on July 4th, 1985, at around 10:07 p.m. It was not quick. It was not painless. Cause of death. Multiple lacerations to the front and back. Head trauma. Ruptured chest cavity. He died with the words _I’m sorry_ on his lips, with no time left to mean them.

Billy Hargrove died. 

And patient #185 wakes up on September 15th, at 7:45 a.m. 

A nurse asks him how he’s feeling. Patient #185 does not know how to form words yet. Does not even know how to understand. 

What he does know is that he hurts, and he has lungs that scream. So he does, he howls because he has no language, no thoughts but _hurt_. If he could he would describe the pain like flames through his veins. Like there was an invisible vice grip on him, squeezing and squeezing. Like he was dying all over again. Patient #185 is sedated within a matter of minutes, and he does not wake back up until 11:36 p.m. This time the nurses have set up a steady morphine drip, and the pain stops having meaning again.

This time when patient #185 is asked how he’s feeling he has to think, think, and work through the muddled numbness of it all. He remembers something, letters and words, their meanings. It’s not a lot, it’s not enough by far, but it’s like finally seeing light in a very long, dark tunnel.

“ _I- don’t know_ ,” the voice that emerges from patient #185’s mouth is not one he recognizes, it’s like something that's been forgotten. Cracked, faded, and much too out of use. The nurse at his bedside nods her head, she makes a tick on her clipboard chart, and she continues to not smile. 

“You’re making progress then.” 

#185 loses consciousness once again, and the next time he wakes up, he’s given a name. There is a man at his bedside this time, balding with a rounded stomach. The man is smiling, something so foreign to #185 it almost puts him on edge.

“William Hargrove, it’s nice to see you awake there champ, how's the morphine keeping ya?”

This is more words than #185- _William?_ Has had to process in- he doesn’t know how long. William doesn’t feel wrong per-say, but it’s not right either, but that wasn’t the question was it? It takes him several lengthy seconds, as the man stares down at him smiling, for him to work out a response.

 _"W-where?_ ” It’s all he can work out, all his lungs seem able to expel. A one-word question and he can feel his heart sink. But the man in front him only grins wider, eyes glancing over the chart in his hands carefully.

“You’re here at St. Vincent Hospital. You sir have only recently been moved out of our intensive care unit, it’s been a very lucky recovery.” 

“ _How?_ ” He feels like he’s playing twenty-questions, and he still hasn’t figured out if he’s searching for a person, place, or thing. The man in front of him nods his head slowly, moves his pencil across the clipboard again, and a flash of anger courses through William’s still sluggish mind. He feels empty, and it’s not a feeling he’s liking so far.

“You were in an accident, an explosion, you and several others. You were the only one we were able to resuscitate. Do you remember?” This man must be a doctor, William realizes, the title popping into his head suddenly, and he feels all the wearier from it. It’s like his mind is a library and all the reference cards have been scattered far and wide. Finding the right ones takes mental gymnastics William’s not used to yet. 

“No- I don’t re-re,” William stops, letting out a low hiss of breath, frustration building in his chest. He knows he should be able to do this, talk, speak through a whole sentence. But he can’t even remember if that's actually true.

“It’s fine William, with time we think you’ll regain the majority of your mental faculties, you took a pretty hard hit to your noggin there. We expected the memory loss, and you’ll remember more with time, but in the meanwhile, you’ll be working with some speech therapists here at the hospital,” the doctor replies and his voice has dropped to a softer cadence, all smoothness, less bubbly and it settles something in William. He relaxes just a bit more into his bed.

" _And, t-time?_ ” They aren’t the right words, not quite but the doctor seems to understand, thinking a moment before responding. 

“How long? Hmm, depends, we hope to get you walking in the next week or so if we manage that then we’ll start thinking about the steps to your release.” Even in William’s muddled state, he can tell when an answer has been evaded, but he doesn’t have time to ponder sluggishly, because there are more pressing questions. 

“A-and my family?” Willam asks because he knows there’s something there, someone who’s worried. He’s hoping they’ll come and explain this all to him, fill in the missing gaps. He thinks this person would if they were allowed. 

“They’ve agreed it’s best you stay with us till you’re all healed up, no visitors, unfortunately. We here at St. Vincent believe our patients' recovery is based solely on the ability to recuperate in as peaceful an environment as possible,” the doctor tuts comfortingly, and William tries to nod along, but his neck is stiff and movement isn’t really possible. “Now, if you have any more questions William, just ask the nurses for Dr. Waldon. You’re my special case and I want to be along to help you with any troubles you may face here.” 

William doesn’t speak, just watches as Dr. Waldon waves, tucks his clipboard under his arm, and exits the room, whistling merrily. 

The room, the _hospital_ room William lays in, is painted a blinding yellow that he’s amazed even he didn’t see before. He has to close his eyes against it to think clearly. He tries to remember who out there, beyond the bright yellow walls, is worried about him.

Before he falls asleep he remembers a head of flaming red hair, and then nothing else before unconscious takes him once again.


	2. Chapter 1

_“I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather thy fallen angel…”_ -Mary Shelly, Frankenstein

It takes days before William can wake for more than half an hour at a time. As he's slowly weaned from his morphine drip, and he is allowed feeling instead of the monotonous numbness, staying awake becomes easier, but still so many of his days are broken up and distorted. He knows he dreams during this period. They’re nightmares really, he wakes soaked in sweat, shaking from them. They fade from his memory as soon as he’s wakeful enough to take in his surroundings, and each night he tries to chase them like a dying man to water. He wonders if they’re memories trying to break the surface of his subconscious, but he can never grasp at them quickly enough. He regains no more memories of the girl with red hair. He’s not sure if she wasn’t just a dream too. Language still comes hard to him, but as he starts to recognize the nurses who flit in and out of his room throughout the days and nights, he picks up phrases here and there. But mostly, through all the pain, and mental fog, the waiting is the worst of it. 

When he wakes up nearly a week after his conversation with Dr. Waldon, he realizes the morphine drip is gone completely. The pain is a dull thrum through his entire body, and he's so stiff he can barely manage to turn his head to look at the small window in his room. The blinds have been perpetually pulled down since he's been aware enough to notice, but he can see pale light filtering through. All this tells him is, it’s early, but without a clock, the exact time is lost to him.

It's then that William realizes his thoughts, normally sluggish and confused at first waking seem clearer, less tangled. He lays a moment, assessing himself, the pain has no center, it’s an all over ache more than anything, and slowly he shifts his hands on top of the covers. When nothing more than a slight twinge of discomfort follows, William begins to bend his arms, testing his weight of them slowly, trying to sit up. He's breathing heavily and there's a thin layer of sweat across his forehead but he manages to right himself completely. It's not much, and it gains him little but a small flare of accomplishment, but he knows from the burning ache in his back muscles, there's very little chance he can stand. 

He takes several steady breaths before he lays back against the headrest of the hospital bed, shutting his eyes tight, feeling incomprehensibly irritated. He knows he shouldn't, it's only been- well, he's not entirely sure how long it's been, a week or so since Waldon, but then- he'd been in a coma. He hits the mental block after that, where he knows, he's certain there's more but it's all just- a void in his mind. A sucking black hole, aching for acknowledgment along with the rest of his sore body. 

Breathing out harshly through his nose, William opens his eyes, and too quickly for comfort forces the blankets from his torso. Moving his legs up and over the bed is excruciating, like something in his spine wasn't meant to move that way anymore. He can feel tears spill over his eyes involuntarily, but he doesn't cry out, tries his best to breathe through the pain as his legs hang over the edge of the mattress.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, waiting for it to pass, the nausea and the white-hot burn across his back, but finally, it does. When he’s aware enough again he notices his hospital gown is soaked through with sweat, salty and clinging heavily on his skin, his arms shaking as they hold him aloft. He blinks slowly, ready to make the next move, clinging to the anticipation of placing his feet on solid ground again. 

He lays back down instead, legs still hung over the side, and skin itching with the need for movement. He knows he can’t do it, and he might not remember anything beyond the walls of St. Vincent, but he knows he’s not the kind of person who could stand the humiliation of falling without hope of getting back up. 

A nurse finds him there, an hour or so later, the bedding thrown to the floor, and him passed out halfway off the mattress. He’s scolded several times as he’s forcefully put back in bed, the covers tucked too tight around him once again. William catches about half of what the guy says to him, something about impatient teenagers, and weakened muscles, but most of it sounds like static. It’s finally, as the nurse gives the final tightening adjustments to the bedding that he looks directly at William to speak.

“Dr. Donnelly will be in at any moment, so don’t go falling asleep again until he can speak with you.”

William doesn’t signify it with a response, and the nurse doesn’t seem to care, giving one last sharp tug to the thin duvet, effectively keeping William stuck beneath. He leaves with a huff or irritation, and William lets him staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling in resigned defeat. 

As the minutes pass, the more William can feel his eyes drifting shut, and each time he has to jolt himself awake again. A visit from anybody willing to talk to him is a good enough reason to stay awake. He’s prepared to be faced with another older man, slouched, pot-bellied, and red in the face. But when the door finally opens, nearly twenty minutes after the nurse has left, he realizes he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Doctor Donnelly is apparently young, with dark freckles scattered on his neck, hands, and cheeks. There is something instantly familiar about him to William, like nothing else has yet proved to be. Except for maybe his hair. The dark blond curls are cut too cropped, too military. It’s the only thing that keeps William from asking if they knew each other beyond the walls of St. Vincent. 

“Morning there William, you slept well I hope?” His voice immediately throws William off, and the sense of familiarity is completely lost. It’s low and smooth, and not altogether unpleasing, but it doesn’t fit whatever memory was trying to breach the surface of William’s torrid mind. Realizing suddenly he’d been addressed, he manages a breathy sounding confirmation, and Donnelly nods, smiling as he reaches William’s beside.

“Good, good- I’m Dr. Donnelly if you haven’t already heard, and I’ll be helping with your physical training.” 

William doesn’t like having to look all the way up, prone on his back with a stranger hovering over him. There’s an unknown fear there, something more about the dislike of such a power imbalance. He doesn’t like to feel defenseless. But Donnelly seems to sense this, and before William can ask what he’s doing, the doctor is reaching to the side of the bed and the mattress is moving, shifting so that without effort on his part he’s facing Donnelly closer to eye level.

“Sorry about that, is this better? I get to talking to so many patients like this I never stop to think how uncomfortable it is,” Donnelly smiles awkwardly, but William just shakes his head minutely, trying to figure out how to convey his gratitude correctly without making a big deal out of it.

“Fine- thanks,” he finally settles on, and Donnelly’s smile becomes more genuine with relief, and he takes a step back from the bed giving William room to breathe again.

“Is the pain manageable without the morphine? We can’t give you much more, but if it’s too much all at once I can allow a little reprieve.”

“ _No_ _-_ I can’t- think,” William forces out, trying his best to put emphasis on the No, and Donnelly immediately nods his head, and ticks off something g on his clipboard sheet.

“Of course, the mental fog can be a real pain- It should go away completely in the next couple days,” Donnelly says, and William tries a small smile in thanks, feeling relief flood through him. Suddenly Donnelly is making a noise of epiphany, and lightly tapping the side of his head as he remembers something else.

“Oh, but the really exciting news I’m supposed to be giving you is that tomorrow we’ll be getting you started with physical training. After your appointments with me you’ll be working with our speech therapist, Dr. Kennedy. She should make communication easier for you- but I’m sure Waldon went over some of this with you already,” Donnelly says, raising an eyebrow, questioning, and William nods.

“Yeah.”

“Right well, since your awake enough to hold conversations I’ll be sending in a nurse for your breakfast after me.”

“ _Breakfast?_ _”_

The meal turns out to be just a tray of powdered eggs and a carton of milk. It’s the best thing William’s ever tasted, technically the only thing he can remember eating at this point after being force fed through a tube for the early days of his recovery. He falls asleep again afterward, with nothing better to do, and is woken at noon for his next meal. Lunch is even better, a bowl of chicken noodle soup, albeit still a little bland. 

Dinner is the most filling, with mashed potatoes, over steamed broccoli, and a small packet of jello. As he scapes the last of the sticky sweet from the cup, he realizes how normal the scheduled meals had made him feel. After days of incongruous happenings, it finally felt like he was getting on track to something of a recovery.

When he falls asleep that night, stomach full of an actual meal, he does not dream of anything. 

**~~~**

William is awakened the next morning by the cheerful click of his hospital room door, and the loud shuffling of another human being. When the bright fluorescent light is flicked on he’s faced with the smiling face of Doctor Donnelly and the not so smiling face of the nurse from the morning before. Between the two of them is a wheelchair, and the sight of it makes something sink to the pit of his stomach.

“Morning William, not too early for you is it?” Donnelly says with a laugh, as William squints into the bright light with a slight groan of dissatisfaction. He’s not sure it’s really a question that’s meant to be answered, because without waiting for a response Donnelly is already motioning for the nurse to strip back the bedding. 

“Now, I know you managed to sit up by yourself yesterday, so if you could do that again for nurse Miller and I, maneuvering you into the chair shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“Right,” William mutters, feeling his cheeks go red hot as he starts the slow and uncomfortable process of propping himself up a bit by bit on his elbows. He’s faster than the day before, much to the relief of his ego.

Being wheeled around is embarrassing to say the least, but they don’t pass many people along the way to wherever they're going. The occasional nurse or custodial staff will glance their way, but no one really looks at William, but rather Donnelly instead. He thinks it would be less annoying if he could wheel himself, but with the effort, it had taken him to simply sit up, it would have been impossible to get down more than one corridor. 

His embarrassment doesn’t last long though, as they reach a set of large double doors. Nurse Miller steps ahead of them to push the doors open and William is faced with a somewhat familiar sight. It’s a weight room of sorts, that much William can recognize. For an instant, there is a flash of a memory, a missing piece of him back. He liked the gym- didn’t he? His discomfort with his current weakness would make a lot more sense then. 

Beyond the usual exercise equipment, and the thing Donnelly is pushing his chair towards is a pair of parallel bars about hip height. William knows what’s in store for him before Donnelly can even explain. 

“Alright Will, right now we’re just testing your strength here, so we’ll help you up onto the bars but I want to see how many times you can make it back and forth holding yourself up- all that sounds okay?” Donnelly’s voice is cheerful, but the idea of the thing _sounds_ nearly impossible and not in the least ‘ _okay’_. 

William just nods his head.

He lasts about 15 going back and forth over the bars, and when he finally collapses back in his chair he can stupidly feel tears of frustration building in his eyes. There’s shooting pain up his spine from the times his arms had nearly given out, and he’d had to put weight on his legs. Walking should not be so hard.

“I can’t- do more.”

“That was impressive Mr. Hargrove, most patients of mine can only go about one or two rounds on their first day of strength training,” the words snap William out of his head immediately, and when he catches Dr. Donnelly’s eyes there is nothing but an honest gleam in his eyes. With that look, all of William’s previous grievances towards himself are alleviated. 

“Uh- _thanks._ ”

“No need, you’ve done all the hard work here today- and unfortunately you have some more. Dr. Kennedy will be waiting for us to start in on your speech therapy.”

They head out alone this time, Nurse Miller having run off on some other important work, and William feels less tense than he had before as they traverse the halls of St. Vincent. Donnelly talks most of the way, about the next steps in his recuperation, the weight training they’d be working on, and so on. It’s a comfortable jumble of words that keep William’s mind off the wandering eyes of the other hospital staff.

In fact, he barely notices when they finally stop in front of a heavy looking door of polished dark wood. There’s a plaque in faux gold reading, _Hillary Kennedy Ph.D_.

“Now, Kennedy can be- hard to get used to, but don’t worry, once she gets to know you it’ll all be up hill,” Donnelly whispers as he places his hand on the doorknob, and William gives him a look of annoyance just before the door is opened.

Doctor Kennedy is a petite brunette woman, with a full face of pristine makeup. She looks a little unreal, almost doll-like, older than Donnelly, but not by much, her hair still sleek and dark, and face relatively unlined. She stands from behind a large oak desk as the door opens, smoothing down the lines of her pencil skirt when the door opens. She’s polite enough as she watches him be wheeled into the room, but her smile is stiff, and William gets the feeling he makes her uncomfortable.

“Hillary, looking as radiant as ever I see, I’ve got your first appointment here,” Donnelly says, tipping an invisible hat off his head as he pushes William’s wheelchair into place in front of the desk. Doctor Kennedy gives him a harsh look, her smile dipping down into a stern line. 

“I prefer to be addressed as Doctor, Samuel, not all of us are as loose with our professionality.” The tension in the room spikes immediately, and William’s not so out of it that he can’t sense it. Donnelly is quiet behind for a fraction of a second before he lets out a soft chuckle of consternation. 

“My apologies, _Doctor_ \- I’ll leave you two to it. See you in an hour, Will,” Donnelly says smartly, not quite sneering at Kennedy but something close to it as he gives a mock salute in William’s direction, and quickly closes the door behind himself. William watches him go already dreading his absence in the face of _Doctor_ Kennedy. 

When he turns back to her she's already giving a once-over look of assessment and the icy blue of her eyes sends a shiver down his spine. He keeps quiet as she does so until finally her shoulders droop and she's letting out a sigh.

"I apologize for that Mr. Hargrove- first impressions are rather important to me, and Dr. Donnelly has always been fond of rustling my feathers- but we have an appointment to keep, so let's just get started," Kennedy says, smoothing back a strand of her dark hair as she sits again making them level to each other once more. William nods to her after a moment, and she smiles at him, less strained this time, and then she grabs a folder from a stack on her desk, and then on top of that a small black recorder. From the file, she pulls forth a packet of cards, and the recorder she sets down on the desk turning it on with a quiet _‘click’_.

"Now this might seem rather elementary to you at first, but it's just to test the breadth of your memory loss- for the most part, I don't think you'll have so much trouble. When I lift the card, I want you to tell me what it is you see," Kennedy finishes looking to him expectantly and he nods once quickly, and she raises the first card.

It's a cow, spotted black and white with a large silver bell around his neck, and William almost rolls his eyes. She had warned him it would be rather elementary, hadn't she?

" _Cow._ "

The next is a house, then a pumpkin, a dog, a barn, and when she shows a picture of a car he gives her the brand as well. By the time they get through the whole stack, William is feeling fairly confident. Kennedy gives him an approving smile, and then from the folder as before she pulls forth several larger cards.

"Now this next set might be a little difficult. Your amnesia seems to be centered around more specific memories, rather than basic knowledge. When I lift these cards, I want you to tell me who these people are," Kennedy says carefully, and William nods his consent.

The first picture is of a man William doesn't recognize at all, dressed in an ill-fitted dark suit and red tie. He looks important- like someone he should know.

"A lawyer?" Kennedy frowns, just slightly, and places the card down. She doesn't say who the man really is, and it sends a sinking feeling to the pit of his stomach. Could the man have been his father? An uncle or some teacher he'd had?

The next is a woman, maybe around twenty-something with soft auburn hair. He's immediately reminded of the dream he'd had waking for the first time. She had to be someone he knew, but still, no name appeared in his mind. 

"I don't- I don't know who she is."

The rest of the stack goes by in a blur, and in much the same way, William recognizes no one. By the end, Kennedy is looking dower, and from another pile of files, she brings forth a sheaf of paper to take notes on. William is quiet as she does so, hoping that something will come to him if he focuses hard enough. Finally, Kennedy's pencil drops, and she lets out an unhappy sigh as she stands from her desk.

"Well Mr. Hargrove, it seems I was correct in my assumption. We'll start work on pronunciation and diction tomorrow, but it seems we'll just have to wait and see how your memory recovers.”

"Did I- know any of those people?" William finally asks, and Kennedy’s lips purse immediately.

"Not personally, no, but for most kids your age they should have been easily identifiable. The first was President Ronald Reagan, the others were actors, and singers popular with your age demographic," she explains calmly.

“Oh.” He’s relieved, of course, that the people in those pictures hadn’t been personal friends or family, but the fact that still none of them sparked recognition was worrying to him. His face must have been giving this away clearly enough that Doctor Kennedy places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t find this so discouraging Mr. Hargrove, the majority of amnesia cases like yours are not permanent, we’ll just have to search for the right triggers, but you have to be patient.”

“I don’t think- I was a very patient person,” William says, and once it’s out he’s sure it’s the truth.

“Well, then there's your bright side. Here at St. Vincent you can become someone else, it’s easy to learn patience when all you have is time.” The way Kennedy says this, her smile wider than he’s had yet to see, sends a shiver down his spine. He’s not sure he’s ready to give up hope on who he was yet. Not quite.

**~~~**

As soon as physical therapy really starts, it seems to be all William’s doing. Hours of working his way up from the smallest of weights, and days of what seems like very little progress. Donnelly is there for all of it, guiding him along, with plenty of helpful tips along the way. He becomes one of William’s closest companions at St. Vincent. While William doesn’t have much to share about himself for obvious reasons, Donnelly has plenty of stories to fill up the space as they work.

Samuel Donnelly had graduated from Purdue’s school of health and science three years previous, a year ahead of his peers at age 23. He likes hiking when he’s not working, and reading Vonnegut. When Will mentions he can’t remember who Vonnegut is, The Sirens of Titan and Slaughterhouse Five are deposited on his bedside table the next morning. 

T.V’s not allowed at St. Vincent, but whenever William is working on a particularly hard exercise, Donnelly starts explaining the plot to an episode of St. Elsewhere. William thinks he’s learned more about the characters and the story then he would have watching it anyway. Sam surely makes them stand out more in his stories.

They’ve been working together for a little more than a month when it happens. The thing that solidifies their bond to William.

He’d been doing well during this particular early morning appointment, finally having managed to work past the hundred pound weight. And then Donnelly suggested that he try unaided walking. It seemed like a good idea, it wasn’t like they hadn’t been building his strength on the leg press machines. He was sure he could hold his weight enough to walk. Donnelly had helped him up from the bench press, giving him a clear path to walk, he just needed to make it to the exit of the weight room. 

He barely makes it five feet before the muscles in his back spasm, and he takes a hard fall to the thankfully padded floor. The pain is instantaneous and excruciating, and all he can do is gasp for breath. Donnelly is at his side at once, asking questions that can’t compute, and saying William’s name over and over again until he realizes Will can’t answer.

He lays there for too long just trying to get his breath back, so the pain can stop, with Donnelly’s hand firmly on his back. He can feel tears on his cheeks, unbidden from the pain, and suddenly he feels furious. 

“What’s the point of this? Obviously, I’m not getting any better- I can’t even walk yet and it’s been weeks. Waldon said I’d be moving _a month ago!_ ” William spits out, banging his fist against the ground, and Donnelly’s hand lifts startled.

“You just have to be-”

“ _Patient?_ Yeah I know, just like I’m patient about my memories returning, just like I’m patient about when you guys will let me see my family- I don’t even know what they look like, their names or- or- _I don’t know anything Donnelly_ \- so don’t tell me to be patient,” William snaps, hating how his voice is shaking, like not even it can hold strong for him. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry Will- I really am,” Donnelly says after the quiet has dragged on for too long. William doesn’t respond, just keeps his head down and fists clenched. 

“Maybe, it’s time we consider other aids to help you walk. You’ve got plenty of strength in your arms and torso and according to x-rays nothing is wrong with your spine but- if somethings not working I can’t place all the blame on you. I’ll find something to help Will, I will,” Donnelly continues, his hand reaching back to rest carefully on William’s hunched shoulders. Something in him had expected a harsher response, not this soft-spoken apology. It makes him look up in surprise, and there is something very genuine in the look Donnelly is giving him. 

After a moment, the anger in him subsides slowly, and he drops his head down onto the mat with a sigh.

“I- _thank you_. Sorry for being such a pain I don’t know why I-”

“Hey, I’m your doctor kid, you’re supposed to be a pain or else I’d be out of a job. And you know you can call me Sam, I’ve never been one for formality,” Sam cuts him off immediately, and again Will’s eyes flick to him in shock. He looks so vehement in this appeal, that all Will can do is nod his head.

“Okay.” Sam grins at him, and when he offers his hand, William takes it without hesitation.

“ _Okay_. Now you’ve got 10 more sets before lunch, so I’ve got time to explain the newest episode of St. Elsewhere- it was a doozy I can tell you that Will.”

**~~~**

More time passes much the same. William reads and re-reads Sam’s Vonneguts, with nothing better to do during his rest periods. The nurses speak little to him, and it’s not that he minds, but sometimes it feels like they don’t see him as human. Changing his sheets, and delivering food more like he was an animal being gawked at in a Zoo. He’s not sure it’s something he feels so strongly.

His time with Sam has become his only solace in the week. After their discussion, Sam had gotten him a pair of strap on crutches. It’s still a pain to walk most of the time, but he’s not confined to the chair and it’s a freedom William doesn’t take for granted.

Kennedy’s sessions on the other hand have felt more like what he thinks school was like- _before_. William only meets with her Wednesdays, Thursdays now, and since his language skills have improved so drastically, much faster than his physical health, Kennedy’s focusing solely on memory games.

It’s one of their Thursday session, and Ms. Kennedy is smiling brightly at him from across the table, bringing her new set of cards in front of her into a nice even formation.

“It’s nice to see you again William, how have you been?” There’s a bit of bright red lipstick smeared across her front teeth, but William ignores it, instead sits just a bit straighter in his seat to address her correctly.

“I’ve been doing just fine Dr. Kennedy, and you?” He’s got a smile on his face, all teeth as they taught him. He can see a happy glint in Kennedy’s eyes, and unbidden a swell of pride rises in his chest.

“I’ve been quite alright thank you for asking Mr.Hargrove, now, did you find time to practice your flashcards?” The cards in Ms. Kennedy’s manicured hands click down onto the table, once, twice as she waits for his answer. 

“I did.” 

“Wonderful, why don’t we start with basic knowledge today. What is the Capital of Indiana?” She starts in quick like this every session, so William is quite a caught off guard. 

“Indianapolis.” He barely has to try and remember, studying for these sessions is one of his main pass times these days.

“Indiana’s state bird?”

“The cardinal.”

“Who’s the current president of the United States?

“Ronald Reagan.” He nearly has to laugh, remembering his inability to pick the man out of the line of photos, but Kennedy’s got an obsession with that man she’s made sure to have him learn the man's name, and policies. William hates the guy's guts at this point.

“His inauguration date?” 

“January 20th, 1981,” William says without a beat, giving none of inner monologuing away, and Kennedy grins at him, dropping another card down onto the table. 

“Perfect.”

She makes him recite every previous U.S president, all the states along with their capitals, the periodic table which takes him longer than usual because the tape recorder Kennedy always has set up is making a horrible high pitched whine. She can’t seem to hear it, and Will isn’t willing to bring any alarm down in himself, so he wethers it. He’s immensely relieved that once the word Lawrencium is out of his mouth, she clicks the machine off with another toothy smile.

“You’ve made a lot of progress Mr. Hargrove, Dr. Waldon will be happy to hear.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” William smiles politely at her, but Waldon’s name sparks a question in him, something he feels needs to be answered. “Is Dr. Waldon planning on visiting any time soon- it just seemed like he was going to be around more.”

Kennedy stops her clean up, hands freezing over a pile of scattered cards. She looks up at him, and for the first time since he’s met her, she seems scared of _him_.

“Dr. Waldon is a busy man, who has a whole hospital to run Mr. Hargrove- but I’m sure once he hears about your progression here he’ll-”

“ _Tell me when I’m leaving?_ ” He prompts and Kennedy’s bright red mouth snaps shut. He knows he’s taken it a step too far when she slowly lowers herself back behind her desk, nails clicking ominously on the glimmering, lacquered wood.

“I think this has been enough for today, I’ll page Dr. Donnelly to come pick you up.”

“No need, I’ve got my crutches, thanks.” He doesn’t wait for her to dismiss him, just grabs his crutches and leaves without another word. He watches the exits on his way back to room more seriously, with their key coded locks, and the fact he’s never been allowed past them.

**~~~**

In light of the confrontation, Kennedy seems to soften somewhat, either out of worry that William will do more than question the hospital, or out of genuine pity, he's not sure. He wakes up several days later to nurse Miller issuing several carts of hanging clothes. Before he can even question it Miller is turning to him with a look of barely concealed apathy.

"Dr. Kennedy's idea says it might help to wear something familiar.” He says it in a way that tells William he thinks it’s laughable theory.

Miller and his two lackeys leave, and Will is left to look over the racks of clothes. Nothing really seems to be him, the lines of Lacoste polos, and high waisted jeans seem familiar, but not his style. But anything is better than the soft green scrubs he's been wearing for weeks.

He grabs a light blue polo, jeans, and a pair of bright red Chuck Taylors. He dresses slowly in the bathroom, having to sit after struggling for several minutes with the jeans. When he finally has it all on, struggling to stand and see himself in the mirror, he's not at all impressed by what he sees. He looks exhausted, the bags under his eyes smudges of dark purple, and sweat beads at his temples. The clothes fit him, nearly perfectly, but they don't fit him. He looks like a stranger in strangers' clothes. He runs a shaky hand through his cropped hair, and the slight curl that slowly grown into it with a sigh. If Kennedy wanted this to spark some memories in him, she'd need to get some better fashion sense. 

When he hears the door to his room being opened, William quickly exits the bathroom, stopping short when he notes Sam staring quizzically at the rows of clothes.

" _Sam?_ "

"Oh- hey Will- I was just stopping by for a surprise check-up but it looks like I've wandered into a mall instead," Sam says slowly, eyes taking in William’s new outfit in confusion. 

“Dr. Kennedy thinks it might help to start bringing familiarity back into my surroundings,” William says flatly, and Donnelly laughs, slightly strained. 

“Well, I’ll get this over with quickly, and then I’ll leave to- browse,” Sam says, motioning to the bed for William to sit. The checkup passes in silence, which isn’t normal, and William can’t seem to figure out what’s keeping Sam from his usual chatter. 

When Sam takes out the blood pressure gage, usually the last thing during these checkups, William breaks the silence.

“You know, Kennedy keeps mentioning Waldon to me- like he knows what’s going on and about my progress, but I haven’t actually seen him since I woke up. Why does he even care at this point?”

“Waldon’s full of it Will, he’s more of a bureaucratic bigwig than an actual doctor these days,” Sam says, eyeing the dial for his blood pressure levels. 

“He seemed nice enough the last time we talked,” William says, sensing Sam wants the discussion to be dropped. He winces as the wrap-around his arm tightens more, and Sam glances up at him, a frown ticking down his usually smiling mouth. It makes something in Will’s chest give a pang of disappointment.

“That sounds more like Kennedy talking than you.”

“I can think for myself, Kennedy doesn’t force words into my mouth, she just teaches them,” William says, and it doesn’t feel like he’s defending Waldon this time, but himself. The thought of Sam thinking him some kind of automaton with no will of his own hurts more than it should. Sam unwraps the blood pressure gage silently, frown still in place until slowly he places the gauge back into his coat pocket with a sigh.

“You’re right kid, personal grudges and all. I just don’t want to see you throwing trust around blindly.”

“What like that’s not normal at St. Vincent?” Will asks, and he means for it to come out jokingly because he’s the resident amnesiac, all he _d_ _oes_ is trust blindly, but Sam stiffens immediately at his side, and Will isn’t sure what to make of it.

“There’s a difference Will,” he says quietly, so seriously that William almost feels the need to scoot backward, distance himself from the situation. But Sam won’t stop staring him down, waiting for an answer.

“Okay,” William says, averting his gaze from Sam’s, not sure he’ll be able to hide the unease in his eyes. 

“You’re blood pressures looking good, a couple more weeks and we’ll have you out and about again.” 

Except William has heard that lie for months now, and he’s starting to wonder if there’s something else he should be looking for.

**~~~**

It’s been five months. Five months since he’d woken for the first time. They don’t let him keep a calendar, but he’s been marking the days, tucked away in the pages of Sam’s old Vonnegut novels. In that time he’s regained his strength, he can walk mostly unimpaired, and his memory beyond the gaps in his past works just fine. He knows there’s no reason to keep him.

And yet still he receives no definitive answer. 

The only person through all of this who has treated him like a human has been Sam, and he’s the only one Will trusts to tell him the truth. 

He waits till after his dinner is brought, and then he heads for Sam’s office, it’s the only secure enough time pace he can think of to talk. He passes few people, each of them too preoccupied in their own work to notice him as he walks past, quiet, and unassuming.

Not that he’s doing anything wrong. He’s just a patient visiting his doctor. He still feels fear itching at the back of his neck anytime someone’s eyes follow him for even a second.

Finally, he manages to make it to the hallway where Sam’s office stands, dimly lit this late at night, Will takes cautious and uncertain steps up to the door. And that’s when he hears it. 

There are voices arguing, and it takes a moment for William to pinpoint them. As he steps closer, Kennedy’s voice comes forth loud and clear.

“ _-It’s been five months and he’s only regained basic knowledge. How many days do you want me to keep asking him to name all the U.S presidents? He doesn’t remember anything!_ ” Kennedy’s voice hisses, and a cold wave of dread floods William’s body. 

“He does, and he’ll remember more. All of my research shows that when people, especially kids his age, experience massive amounts of trauma they repress to cope. We just have to be patient with him,” Sam snaps back, and the screeching sound of a chair being pushed back follows. 

“You've never met a person on Earth like him, how do you know he’s reacting in the same way? Waldon’s done being patient, he’s pushing us to move forward,” Kennedy replies, the rapid sound of her clicking heels follows Donnelly farther into the room. William has to move closer to the door to catch what’s said next.

“William is under my care, we move forward when I say,” Sam snaps, and William can feel a thrill of admiration towards Sam when he hears that.

“Waldon went over your head Donnelly, this project has wasted enough money as is- they want results and they want answers,” Kennedy’s voice comes out pointed and harsh, and William’s heart, already beating quickly, jumps up in pace. His palms are sweating as he presses farther against the wood in anticipation. _Project_ doesn’t sound like something a doctor would call a patient, project makes him sound like an experiment.

“ _Wasted money?_ We played God and defeated death and Waldon’s saying that’s a waste of money?”

“If you can’t figure out how to recreate the process it fucking is.” William wants to leave, wants to pull away from the door and this conversation that is making a pit of dread so heavy in his stomach he might puke. But he can’t, he can’t bring himself to leave the conversation unfinished.

“Fine- fine tell Waldon he can go fuck himself though. I’m not going to help lobotomize the poor kid,” Sam’s voice comes out weary, and low, and William’s grip on his crutch tightens till his knuckles go white.

“It’s only electroshock therapy, I know you’ve seen and done worse. Don’t start acting like a Saint now because you have a soft spot for the little monster,” Kennedy retorts harshly, and there is quiet for a long tense moment.

“Are we done here?” Sam asks, and Kennedy laughs. 

“We’re done,” Kennedy says, and then her footsteps shape and clear are coming near the door. Backing away William can feel himself panicking, looking for an escape. He reaches for the nearest door he can, and gives a breathy sigh of relief when the handle gives way. He closes the door behind him just as Kennedy exits Sam’s office. Will doesn’t breathe again until the sound of her heels has completely disappeared down the hallway. He doesn’t open the door for another five minutes.

When finally he feels safe enough to leave, he’s less than careful as he races away as fast he can on a crutch. The noise is probably too loud, but he needs the distance, he needs his room and time to think.

He walks faster then he has been able to push himself in months, and finally he is behind the safety of his door. There is no lock on it, no way to keep out those who want to do him harm. He sits poised beside the door, next to the hinges, effectively hiding himself from anyone who would try to enter. 

He sits there for a tense long while before he feels comfortable enough to think over the conversation he'd overheard.

They want him to remember something, something important enough they’re willing to torture it out of him. It had something to do with his accident, and the fact he’d somehow survived it. Waldon had said it was an explosion, but William was certain now whatever had come out of that man's mouth was a lie. Just like Kennedy and just like Sam. 

That betrayal hurts the most, sends the largest rush of fear through William. Someone he had trusted so blindly was willing to do harm to him. He can feel tears of frustration brimming in his eyes when the door handle to his room starts to turn. 

William raises his crutch, leaning heavily against the wall to do so. As soon as the figure beyond the doorway takes a step in, Will is bringing the crutch down hard. He hits something and the man stumbles into the wall to his right with a yelp of pain. The door slams and there’s nothing between them now.

Sam stands clutching his left shoulder looking aghast at William. 

“ _Will-_ ” With a burst of anger, William lunges again swinging harder than before but Sam is quicker this time.

“Whoa, Will wait-” Sam dodges out of the way of the long arm of the crutch, eyes wide with panic. 

“No- no shut up, don’t come near me,” William says, back held to the door as Sam rights himself, looking shaken. His mouth twists down at William’s words, and he lifts his hands in a pleading manner.

“Will, please you have to understand, we don’t have time for-”

“For what- lobotomizing me- or no it was electroshock therapy wasn’t it? Why the hell am I here Sam?” William barks, and Sam winces harder than he had when physically attacked.

“I know- I know how bad it sounds, and it is bad- but you were caught you on the hospital’s security tapes, and they know you were listening in on us Will- I couldn’t get to them in time to erase it, but I’m not going to let them take you,” Sam says empathically, eyes wide and pleading. William swallows, eyes darting between Sam and the door. He doesn’t know what to think or who to trust.

“Who are you talking about- Waldon, Kennedy or-?” William asks harshly, looking behind himself at the door feeling panic swelling in his chest. 

“No, no it’s higher up than them, but I don’t have time to explain. I need you to trust me, _please_ ,” Sam says, taking a risky step forward, still favoring his right shoulder. He doesn’t really have another choice, does he?

“Alright,” he says quickly, but he doesn’t return Sam’s relieved smile. 

“Put these on and walk with me,” Sam says, removing a canvas bag Will had previously missed. He tosses it to William, and inside is a heavy-looking winter coat, gloves, a wool hat, and a thick scarf.

He shoves them all in quickly, as Sam stands at the door, looking shaky and not altogether there. Sam gives him a once over when he’s finally done and then he’s motioning him quickly through the door.

“Back entrance this way, there’s an elevator.”

They don’t meet anyone on the short journey, too out of the way of the usual routes. Will’s already sweating by the time they reach the elevator, but when he tries to pull the scarf down Sam gives him a look.

“It’s February in northern Indiana, you’ll want to keep that on,” Sam says quickly, pressing the down button hard. They wait an agonizing few moments for the elevator to reach them, and then they shuffle in quickly. Sam presses B for _basement level_ , and William pulls down his scarf ruefully.

“ _Where are we going?_ ”

“It’s where _you're_ going- you don’t belong here, I thought what we were doing was something for the greater good, but the truth is Will, they're never going to let you leave here.”

“None of this makes any sense, why-?” Sam cuts him off with a sharp look.

“You have to go, that’s all I can tell you. Explaining would take too long, and you’re better off not knowing anyway. There’s five hundred bucks in a wallet in the pocket of your coat. Once you make it past the guards you get as far away as you can with that money, you hear me?”

“I don’t-?”

“Do you hear me?”

The elevator dings and the doors open wide to reveal a dim and echoey parking garage. Will looks between it and Sam, feeling unmoored and terrified. Sam gives him another pointed look and he steps backward out of the elevator.

“Yeah- _yes_.”

“This card should check out at the guard post, just pull up your scarf, hurry, and be careful,” Sam says, quickly fishing out something from his jacket pocket, hand in place over the doors, giving them a moment longer to speak. He places a shiny white I.D in Will’s hands.

“Sam I-” the doors are beeping, wanting to be closed and Sam steps back. 

“ _Just go kid_.” The last thing Will sees of Sam is a mournful look, and then he is alone, with the key to his escape.


End file.
